Remember Him
by DarkestAngellic
Summary: For all that he can keep unpleasant memories sealed away under lock and key while conscious, they always inevitably creep forward during his sleeping hours to plague him with nightmares. It is a pain he carries without complaint. It is his burden to bear, and shoulder it he will. WARNING: very brief mention of self harming.


_**Disclaimer: I own nothing from FFVII, not the settings, not the characters, not the names. Nothing. I own absolutely nothing. It is all the property of the wonderful Square Enix.**_

_**A/N: There's a small bit of explaining that needs doing for this fic, which you will find in the A/N at the bottom. For now though, thank you to EVERYONE who has taken the time to leave reviews to my stories. Your feedback is much appreciated, and your comments never fail to bring a smile to my face.**  
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They always start how they end, the nightmares. In their beginning and in their demise there is laughter that forever haunts his sleeping hours. Rich and warm, vibrant and happy. Husky and deep was the laugh of his brother, the blood sibling long since lost to him, nothing but memories of him stubbornly remaining within the sands of time. Memories locked in Chaos' head, wolves that will frolic and play most days but hunt him on the darkest of nights when there is no inner moon to light his path and he is lost, seeking something he can never attain given how tainted a soul he is. The wolves of his mind he cannot fight off nor outrun. They are stronger than he, faster than he, better than he. They have a lifetime of silent despair and misery to fuel them while the very same things weight him down, suck him ever lower like quicksand he can't escape.

The nightmares begin as pleasant dreams, a recalling of happier times. Sense and body memory combining to take his weary mind back to the span of days, weeks, months and years that are but a blink of an eye compared to the many centuries he's had to call an existence. He can recall the fresh scents of a Planet still vibrant even with the Calamity's wound smarting in Her body, the sun warming his skin even through the leather he didn't wear nearly as often back then. He'd peel away the top half of his bodysuit so it would pull around his waist. He'd take off the armour and carefully set it aside, remove the headdress and put it down on top of everything else. Chaos would let his wild hair tumble loose and free down around a face unmarked, amber eyes often bright with mirth and lips tugged up into a half-smile at least. His gravelly rumble would be a common feature of those days, always accompanied by the warm laughter of his brother while they prowled land and air alike, free spirits granted permission to wander as they pleased, roaming across the world as only predators at the top of the food chain could.

Always, these particular nights would recall those happier times and cast them in the sunny light he kept them preserved in, buried deep within his heart and seldom visited of his own free will while conscious. Much preferring to keep them as pure as was possible for a creature like he. But the tone would shift in but a few hours. The sun wouldn't be heating his skin, the warmth wouldn't permeate through him, wouldn't rid the chill from his bones. Shadows would win against the light in the ever present battle for dominance, and the easy smiles faded. Instead came a tension he had been blind to at the time, hadn't recognised for what it was. The spark in crimson eyes slowly receded, the white skin grew every paler until the contrast between flesh and sable leather was downright disturbing even to Chaos, interrupted only by the splash of colour to eyes of danger and death. The violent air ever cloaking around his brother grew thicker, more stifling, and in his mind in the memories he couldn't escape, the wolves would creep forward to intensify the sensations until the fear left him freezing in place, unable to stop the train-wreck about to happen.

By the time the laughter started up again, his conscious mind was aware of the nightmare, but caged and shackled into a state it couldn't break. Subconscious thought ruled in those moments before the laughter would begin again. Husky and deep was the laugh of his brother, the blood sibling long since lost to him, nothing but memories of him stubbornly remaining within the sands of time. No longer was it rich and warm, vibrant and happy. Now it was grating and glacier cold, empty and lifeless, devoid of emotion. More fittingly described as a rattle of death than the laughter of a living creature. Those eyes would flash in his mind again, glowing brighter than ever he'd glimpsed, quite akin to the wet pools of freshly spilled blood he so revelled in, Shadow's gaze was one that had even the strongest of souls cowering where they stood. The only reason Chaos hadn't was because of the shock that his own brother was two seconds from attacking him.

Then those eyes would darken, each and every time he would see that small shard of light vanish in that one second, every replay of the final moments always revealing the same instance where his brother shattered inside and his sanity scattered like leaves in an autumn gale. With the nightmare well and truly spinning its torment upon his mind, unheard screams would tear from his throat, his body trying desperately to awaken while his mind remained trapped, thrashing wherever he lay and tearing his surroundings asunder with physical force and magic alike. Again, sense and body memory would combine and the haunting laughter would chill his bones while fire split across his face, reliving once again the feeling of sharp metal sinking through his flesh and pulling his blood forward. Reliving once again the sensation of being too slow to react, too stunned and horrified to move while pain seared through his nerves and instincts screamed to defend or run.

The nightmares of his brother were rare, but they left the demonic WEAPON shaken to his core. Every morning afterwards he would resemble death warmed over, seemingly mute with how little he offered a single word. Whenever he was coaxed into speaking, his voice would be raw and scratchy.

And if one knew him well enough? If one had taken the time to look upon the face of a strong body acting as the shield to the broken soul? Then one would see the scars marking a brother's betrayal were not as faded as they should have been. A very faint speck of colour in the direct centre of each line the only hint as to the claws of his left hand having torn open his own face in the night, the blood meticulously washed away upon waking. It is a torment he suffers and a pain his subconscious inflicts willingly.

For if he does not butcher his face during those nightmares, his healing will eventually remove the scars. And for the sake of his own sanity, he needs them to _remain_.

He needs proof to remember his brother by, as there is nothing else in existence but memories, the things that toxic thoughts would trick him into thinking false without the scars providing a map to those sunny days turned forever dark whenever the wolves roamed free.

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_**A/N 2: So some of you might be going "WTF is she smoking? Chaos doesn't have a brother!" and you would be right. He doesn't. Not in canon. You see, as I've previously mentioned, I roleplay Chaos on another site. The brother mentioned in this fic is of my own creation, so any mentions of the Shadow (short for Shadowdancer) are of a character that I myself have created and therefore own. Anyway, long story short, his brother was destroyed by Minerva for trying to kill Chaos - which is what our favourite demonic WEAPON is recalling in this fic. It is his nightmare - the memories of his brother's attack coming forward to plague his sleeping hours while his mind is in an unguarded state.**_


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